


Stitches

by unibadger2



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Mentions of Injuries, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-12-15 17:06:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11810412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unibadger2/pseuds/unibadger2
Summary: “Dean,” you murmured, pushing the old, wooden door of an abandoned workshop open slowly. “Something doesn't feel right.”“Relax, Y/N. All we have to do is get in, gank one or two vamps, and get out. We’ll be fine.”You scoffed quietly and rolled your eyes at the sound of the voice behind you. Despite Dean’s attempt at reassuring you, the nervous feeling in your gut didn't go away. Everything had felt wrong from the moment you had started this hunt, and you were almost certain it wasn't just because of the sketchy diner food.





	Stitches

“Dean,” you murmured, pushing the old, wooden door of an abandoned workshop open slowly. “Something doesn't feel right.” 

“Relax, Y/N. All we have to do is get in, gank one or two vamps, and get out. We’ll be fine.” 

You scoffed quietly and rolled your eyes at the sound of the voice behind you. Despite Dean’s attempt at reassuring you, the nervous feeling in your gut didn't go away. Everything had felt wrong from the moment you had started this hunt, and you were almost certain it wasn't just because of the sketchy diner food. 

“Hey, look at me,” Dean spoke more gently, grabbing your shoulder and turning you around to face him, holding your face in his calloused hands. “It'll be fine.”

You nodded, swallowing thickly. You turned back around and followed Dean as he took the lead, his machete held in front of him. When your foot hit something cold and hard you stopped abruptly. Glancing down, you fought back the urge to vomit. A dead body lay at your feet; a young man, no older than twenty-five or thirty.

“Dean,” you hissed, grabbing his attention. The two of you crouched low to the dusty ground, inspecting the corpse. “I don't think we’re dealing with vampires,” you said, gesturing grimly towards the gaping hole in the man’s chest. “Heart’s missing.”

“Dammit,” Dean cursed. He stood up and slowly ran his hand down his face. Following him up, you pulled out the spare gun you had tucked into your belt. 

“I got a silver bullet or two in here. Hopefully we’re not dealing with more than one furry friend here,” you said, huffing in frustration.

Out of nowhere, a dark shape threw itself at Dean with a loud snarl. You stood there, shocked, while Dean tried to fruitlessly push the werewolf off of himself. Snapping out of it, you fumbled with the safety of your gun, your eyes straining against the dark. Dean let out a shout of pain, and your stomach twisted in response. You felt your blood run cold as you realized that the hunter and the werewolf were moving too fast for you to get a clear shot.

“Dean!” 

In a moment of silent communication, he shoved the werewolf off of himself and towards you; you promptly emptied your remaining bullets into its head. Dropping the gun, you raced to Dean’s side and fell to your knees. You took in the bloody sight, quickly tearing off your coat and pressing it to a large gash on his chest. When you noticed his shallow breaths, you gently grabbed Dean’s face. “Hey, Dean, look at me. Don't fall asleep, okay?”

_Oh, God._

Dean nodded weakly, his eyelids half-closed. Grabbing his forearms, you hoisted him up and slung an arm over your shoulder. You struggled to put one foot in front of the other, but Dean’s dead weight reminded you of the impending danger. Slowly, you made your way out of the workshop and to the Impala. Opening the passenger door, you set Dean down as slowly as you could, fishing the keys out of his pocket.

Sliding into the driver’s seat and gunning the engine, you stole a worried glance at Dean and tore out of the empty gravel driveway.

* * *

Groaning, Dean cracked open an eye and threw and arm over his face. He winced at the aching feeling in his shoulder.

“Hey, Dean,” he heard your voice whisper, “don't move; you'll tear your stitches.” You brought a hand to his forehead, brushing away the sweaty hair. Dean took his arm away from his face and leaned slightly into your touch. “How do you feel?”

“Like a million bucks,” Dean grunted, shuffling slightly under the covers of his bed. “My shoulder hurts and I feel like I just had open-heart surgery, minus the morphine.”

You laughed softly, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. “Well, I don't have any morphine for you, but I got some Tylenol that went bad a month ago and some pie.”

“Did I ever tell you how much I love you?” Dean asked, gently bringing you closer for another kiss.

“Only all the time.”


End file.
